A Haunting of lives long lost
by Linger1536
Summary: Henry VIII was sitting in the darkness of his own chambers, waiting... He had been hearing things for days and every now and then he would see a flash of a person that was no longer among the living. He knew they were coming.


**This the edited and the finished version of my story A Haunting of lives long lost. I've decided to delete the first version since there were many misspellings and I found it sloppy. **

**I want to thank Treebrooke, FireBubble and the Guest for reviewing the first version, thank you so much guys!=) **

It was an eerie night with mist rising from the Thames, making its way through London. The unfortunate ones that were still out on this dreadful night quickly scurried for their homes, all except one.

John Marlowe was in a hurry home when she caught his eye. A woman was standing in the middle of the emptying street gazing up at the Tower which held such torture within its walls. The mist was at its thickets there and John had to squint to make out the dreadful building. John hurriedly made his way to the woman.

"Miss!" He gently grabbed her arm. "Miss, you should not linger at a night such as this."

She turned around and he found himself staring into a pair of mesmerising green eyes with flecks of gold within them. She was beautiful with her pale complexion and her long dark blond hair which cascaded down her shoulders to her bum in elegant curls.

She gave him a reassuring smile. "Oh, there is no need for you to worry, Sir."

"Surely you have some where to be?" John persisted. This girl could be no more than seventeen and to judge by her clothing she seemed to be a noble. He could not fathom why she was left to tend of herself.

"Yes I have."

John could hear the sound of an approaching carriage but when he whirled around all he could see was the thick mist. He returned his attention to the young woman only to find her eyes settled on something behind him.

"Do you know what date it is?" she asked.

John looked at her puzzled but he answered nevertheless. "Yes, 19th of May."

Her eyes settled on him. "Have you heard the legend?"

"No, Miss I have not."

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder and he could hear the approaching hooves. "You must know of Anne Boleyn."

A smile tugged at John's lips. "Do not tell me you believe in spirits," he said while laughing. John was not a superstitious person unlike so many others.

She gave him a sad smile. "How can I not?"

The mist cleared and the carriage became visible. The horses pulling the carriage were ghastly creatures. Their bodies were gaunt with tight skin causing the bones protrude. These were beings of Satan. Where their heads should have been were nothing but emptiness.

"Thomas Boleyn," whispered the girl.

John removed his terrified gaze from the dreadful beings to the coachman. His eyes only flickered to the man for a second before they focused on the headless woman inside the coach. John moved his lips in a silent prayer. She wore the same gown she had died in, the beads which were embroiled on it had long since lost their beauty. Most of them were covered in blood, dripping from her headless neck. In her lap she held her beheaded head. Her throat was hidden by her long dark hair which fell in a tangled mess to the floor of the coach. The dark brown eyes she was famous for stared blankly out into nothingness but when the coach passed him he saw her lips curl into a smile as her eyes sought his.

"God save the king," he whispered as it passed by.

"His soul has since long lost redemption."

John turned to the woman and was about to ask her what she meant but his lips became numb at what his eyes met.

The dress she wore which presumably once had been white was dirty with grim and dried blood. She smiled at him hauntingly as his eyes settled on her throat; there was a jagged gash running horizontally across it which had blood dripping out of it.

"You … Y-you are Katherine Howard!" He hurriedly backed away from her.

She let out a tinkling laugh. "At your service my Lord." She curtsied to him.

She disappeared before his eyes, leaving a stunned man behind, clutching at his heart.

Henry VIII was sitting in the darkness of his own chambers, waiting...

He had been hearing things for days and every now and then he would see a flash of a person that was no longer among the living. He knew they were coming. They always came together, perhaps because their fates were so similar and as they would say; unjust.

Beams of light were spilling into the room from the windows. The moonlight cast an illuminating light across his chambers. The candles his servants had lit were casting ghostly silhouettes across the walls. A light giggle echoed around the room coming from every corner. He saw a flash of blond in one but as his head snapped in its direction it was gone.

A strong scent of roses penetrated the air.

"_Your rose without a thorn."_

The words were barely audible. He glanced around the room for a sign of another occupant but he found no one. He felt a light weight in his lap and when he turned his eyes to it he blanched. A single red rose without any thorns was placed on his lap. With shaking hands the old king threw the rose across the room.

"You don't scare me!"

The mirror hanging on the wall opposite of him seemed to groan before it cracked horizontally; separating his head from the rest of his body. He shook his head, reminding himself that it was not real; his body was in one piece. He felt the skin on his neck prickle as if someone was standing behind him and purposely blowing on it. He hastily looked in the mirror only to find a pair of the most deep dark, brown eyes he'd ever seen stare back at him.

"_Henry, please. For the love you bear our child, for the love of Elizabeth-"_

"_You lied to me!"_

"_... have mercy!"_

"_You've always lied to me!"_

"_No!"_

"Leave my thoughts alone demon!" roared the King.

The eyes regarded him with a coldness which made his inside chill but he refused to show it. He was the King of England and he would not let them scare him.

"Boo," came a whisper from behind him.

His eyes returned to the mirror and this time the eyes were gone and he was not alone. Standing behind him was Katherine Howard.

"_Henry! Henry please!"_

"_No! Your Majesty!"_

He saw her pout at him as he remained unmoving. "Are you not happy to see me, Henry?"

"_No, please! Henry!"_

A short humourless laugh came from his left. "Don't be silly Katherine."

Anne Boleyn was sitting on one of the plush chairs she had once occupied and had continued to be occupied by her successors. She was as striking as she had been all those years ago. There was not a flicker of emotion suppressing the love she had once had for him instead there was a coldness.

"Well, I am happy to see you Henry," said Katherine as she walked around the chair and twirled in front of him. "I feel so … alive when we visit you." She laughed as she swirled gracefully on the spot. "Although you don't look well."

She moved closer to him leaning her head forward which made the thin scar across her throat and neck visible. Henry cringed at the sight and tried to move away from her. Anne who had been watching the exchange smiled.

"Awful, isn't it?" she asked. "I have one as well." Her brown eyes shone with satisfaction as she saw him shudder at the sight of her scar. "I was the lucky one, the strike was clean. Katherine's wasn't. Do you see how jagged her scar is? It's because of the axe but I suppose she was lucky as well, she only required one stroke. It is something I cannot say about others."

"Do you have to be so dull?" Katherine asked Anne. "Did we not come here to tell him the news?"

Henry frowned they had never brought him news before. No, every time they came it was to remind him of his sins.

Anne rose from the chair and came to stand next to Katherine. "You are dying," she said, "surely you must know that."

Henry felt dread wash over him, of course they would not bring news that would sound good to his ears. No they only brought along misery.

"Your son will die not long after you," Katherine smiled sadly, "such a pity I liked little Edward."

"No," the word left his lips in a whisper. "No! You are lying!" He would not believe it. His son, his heir, his Edward would not die.

"When have we ever lied to you?" asked Anne. "Charles Brandon will die tonight."

"Oh, and Mary will be known as Bloody Mary," Katherine smiled cruelly at him. "She will be hated."

"Elizabeth," said Anne with such love and adoration, "the child that was not good enough will become Queen. She will rule this country after you and she will be remembered and loved unlike you."

To the two women's astonishment he showed no surprise at these news. Elizabeth was clever, she had always been. It made sense to Henry that she would become a good queen.

"It's rather sad that she will never marry."

Henry sat up straight at this. He stared at Katherine. "What do you mean?"

"What does she mean?" Anne echoed. "Our daughter will never take a husband or have children of her own." Anger flashed in Anne's eyes. "All because of you."

Henry stared at them baffled. "Me? How can it be because of me if I die soon as you claim."

Katherine smiled sadly and shook her head at him. "You don't understand how much your actions has scarred her."

Anne's lip curled in disgust. She moved away from him as if she couldn't stand to be in his presence. "All she ever will know is the betrayal of a husband. You've been married six times, divorced twice and executed two of your wives."

Henry had never thought of the affect his actions would have had on his children. He was the King of England and he had the right to do as he saw fit. They had been unfaithful of course they deserved death. Now he realised that this wasn't how his children saw it, especially Elizabeth. In her eyes he had murdered her mother.

"She may not understand now," he said, "but she will. You were both unfaithful."

He saw something in Katherine he had never seen before. His sweet rose had always been bubbly and happy, never had he seen her shake with anger.

"I may have been unfaithful to you, but do not forget that you were as well," she hissed at him. "Please enlighten me to how this is a good enough reason to have someone executed."

"I had every right! I am the-"

"The King," Anne said, waving her hand in the air. "Yes, yes we know. Still how is it any different? Katherine was the Queen, why was she not allowed lovers?"

Henry opened his mouth to answer but then closed it. He was too infuriated to reply.

"Oh, don't bother with him Anne," said Katherine. "He will never listen."

Henry shot up from the chair furious. "You!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at Anne. "You don't get to play the victim."

Something inside Anne snapped, just as it had that day so many years ago when she had found that wench Jane Seymour on his lap.

"I was the victim!" She knocked a vase down from the table in the middle of the room. It crashed to the floor, the pieces spreading around her feet.

"You were a liar! You offended against me with your body!" he yelled at her in fury.

She scoffed at him as she took a step forward. The pieces groaned underneath her feet but they had no affect on her. They cut through the soles of her feet but she never bled.

"You are living a lie," she told him coldly. "I was never unfaithful to you. The only reason you still insist to believe it is because you don't want to admit to sending an innocent woman to her death."

Henry refused to listen. "Smeaton confessed, even in death you lie!"

Anne let out a sound of pure frustration. "What do I gain of lying?"

Katherine watched the exchange between the former lovers with mild interest. This was what she had heard about. The passion between the two; that had torn a whole country apart and eventually them as well. There was no denying the tension in the air between the two. Even now when they hated each other the passion was there. Katherine gazed at Henry curiously, did he not feel any remorse? She had thought she'd seen a flicker of … something when he saw Anne's scar. Without a word to the other two, she disappeared.

Henry didn't know what to say. What did she gain from lying in death? Surely it must be something, he convinced himself. He refused to believe in her innocence.

"I loved you."

The words echoed around the room and Henry had to clasp his hands over his ears in order to shut them out. When he opened his eyes again she was gone. He sank down into the chair as the anger left him. He closed his eyes in exhaustion.

Charles Brandon died the very same night.

She visited him one last time. This time without Katherine, with Elizabeth as her only company. He knew why she was there, yet he still asked. During this meeting it was as if all the pieces fell into place and when he finally realised his wrongdoings she was gone.

"Anne, please don't!"

For the first time since Jane's death, Henry cried himself to sleep. He hated it, he felt weak. He had sentenced her to death. He had killed the woman who'd had his love for so long, for what? To have a son. A son that would not live into adulthood. She had given him what she had promised, she had promised him an heir, and Elizabeth would become Queen of England. He had thrown her away for nothing and there was not a single thing he could do about it except cry.


End file.
